The Mome Rath Hasn't Been Born That Can Outgabe Me
by Kits
Summary: Snark for snark, chit for chat. Zenlike musings at lunch, except not really.
1. Water Life!

**Title: **The Mome Rath Hasn't Been Born That Could Outgabe Me!

**Author:** Kits

**Rating: **G

**Summary:** Snark for snark, chit for chat. Zen-like musings at lunch break.

John prodded the food with his fork, drawing his hand back quickly in case it decided to prod back. So far, so good. He poked it again, just to make sure it was awake, and not just ignoring him.

McKay watched with frank interest, a hint of something behind his eyes that might have been identified as disbelief had Sheppard been looking. Fortunately, he was too preoccupied on carefully turning the plate, just to make sure no eyes were blinking at him.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"

Sheppard thought consideringly, chewing on the green mush that might once have been vegetables. Swallowing, he gave the scientist a grin. "No."

"Apparently."

There was a moment of companionable silence.

"You know what I don't get?" Sheppard said. McKay arched his eyebrows, waiting for the major to enlighten him. "We get the brightest minds for everything. The best engineers, the best botanists, doctors—"

"Astrophysicists," McKay added, mumbling around a mouthful of food.

"I wouldn't have forgotten Zelenka," Sheppard said.

"Oh, cute."

"Elizabeth must have been pretty high up, too, though I never heard of her in the political circles," Sheppard mused, as though he were thinking out loud.

"Well, she must have been someone," McKay said. "They wouldn't just grab some random diplomat off the street, tell her the most important global secret in the history of Earth—"

"That we know of."

"That we know of, and send her to lead a team to another galaxy," finished McKay.

"Point. But I mean, we get all these people, the best of everything… why couldn't we have gotten the best chef? I knew a cook down at this little restaurant—"

"Please. Not while I'm trying to get."

Sheppard frowned. "But he was an awesome cook."

"I know. I don't like to be reminded how bad this food is."

"Ah." Sheppard nodded. He poked at his food again, decided not to chance the stuff that might have been Jello except there was not supposed to be a dessert in the meal, and shoved the tray aside. McKay seemed to be pondering something, which meant that if Sheppard waited a second, soon he would say something, and it might be interesting.

He was not disappointed.

"What I don't understand—"

"You don't understand something?" Sheppard feigned shock. "And you're admitting it?"

"Well, even the most brilliant of minds can't know everything. I would be too perfect to bear if I did."

Sheppard's muttered, "You're not already?" was either not heard or ignored.

"All of the most brilliant minds in the academic community up and disappear. They stop publishing papers, no more lectures… and no one notices?"

"I'm sure the government came up with a cover story," Sheppard began, but McKay cut him off, shaking his head furiously.

"What, that we all moved to the Bermuda Triangle? Doesn't it seem a bit suspicious to outsiders that they all left at the same time, even if the government gave them the best cover story of all? I mean, the scientific community is tight-knit, and a massive global disappearance of the greatest minds of our time is sort of hard to miss."

There was another silence, when McKay nudged Sheppard's foot underneath the table.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sheppard stared at some point over McKay's shoulder, eyebrows crinkled in a thoughtful frown. One eye squinted slightly in a way that should have made him look demented, but somehow didn't. McKay could never pull that look off. He kicked the major again, this time with a bit more force than necessary.

"Hmm?"

"I said, what are you thinking about?" said McKay, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

"I think I left the water on at home."


	2. May the Ford Be With You

**CHAPTER TWO—May the Ford be With You**

**A/N:** Right, right, so an explanation. The first is an explanation of the title. It's from Lewis Carroll's poem, "Jabberwocky". It's just a joke on some of the lines in the poem. Also, San Antonio Spurs won the Championships last night! Rock on!

* * *

"Poker." There was a pause, then Sheppard tilted his head. "And pool. Poker and pool."

Teyla frowned at him, the slight confusion on her face whenever someone said something she didn't understand, generally an expression that should have taken 3 seconds to understand buttook 3hours to explain. "Pool?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said, leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Pool. It's a game. With angles."

A brief memory of a pool table in a bar flashed before his eyes. A nice one, not the sleazy dumps he went to before; the clientele was composed more of businessman looking for a few drinks after work and some kids from the college nearby. The table, leather pockets and wood finish, was one of two in the cramped space, and John leaned casually against it with one hip. He flashed a lazy grin at the man across from him, then bent down to line up his shot. 45 degree angle, reflect, bang, corner pocket—I'll take cash, thanks, better luck next time, yeah, see you soon.

McKay's voice interrupted his reminiscing. "You paid for college by playing pool? And poker?"

"I counted cards."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," McKay muttered, fiddling with the VCR again. They were attempting to watch Star Wars—after all, that many scientists, someone had to have brought it—when the VCR started squealing and making protesting noises. The problem was deferred to their friendly neighborhood genius, Rodney McKay, regardless of the fact he could build a nuclear bomb in sixth grade but apparently still hadn't mastered reprogramming a VCR. Ford sat by him, handing him the screwdriver or the manual whenever needed. The latter was scorned.

"Hey, whatever. Some of us didn't have a full ride to Harvard, you know," Sheppard shot back.

"Oh, please, like I'd ever go to that pretentious collection of inept snobs."

Ford grinned at that, handing over the screwdriver when McKay flapped his hands at him.

"How about you, Ford, where'd you go to school?"

"Wichita State University, sir," Ford answered promptly.

"Kansas?" McKay fiddled with something that sparked in indignation. "You're from Kansas?"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?" He might have been joking. The sharp edge to his voice might have been a good-natured tease. McKay decided not to chance it.

"Of course not. Good state, Kansas. Lots of… fields. And things."

Teyla and Sheppard shot each other bemused glances. True, Teyla might not have picked up on all of the nuances of the exchange, but she got the gist. Sheppard liked having McKay on his team—not only was the man a genius, and sometimes incredibly useful in a sticky situation, but he was good for comedic relief as well.

"Aha!"

Incredibly useful in a sticky situation, Sheppard thought with a smug grin. Like when the VCR broke in the middle of the greatest movies on Earth and, currently, in another galaxy as well.

"I do not understand this Force," Teyla announced as the movie started playing. Sheppard and McKay gave her affronted looks while Ford snickered.

"Well, Teyla, you see, the Force is around us at all times, surrounding us and can be used to wield really cool things, like lightsabers."

The movie played on.

* * *

**Special thanks to those who reviewed, namely:** fififolle, GL12, Dr. Dredd, Snow'sLuckyCat, and Espiritu! Thank you all very much for reviewing--always appreciated. :o) 


	3. Into the Land of Oz

**CHAPTER THREE—Into the Land of Oz**

**A/N:** I have a friend in Australia, and though I love her dearly, whenever she calls me on the phone, I can only catch a few words, including, "Oh, smeg!" and other such sayings. Anyway, just wondered why there are no Aussies on the show.

* * *

When Teyla approached him a week ago, voicing her thoughts on a certain scientist named Joey Matore, he had laughed it off and insisted that she would get to understand accents better, it was just a matter of practice on both sides. Zelenka had improved with his English significantly since first coming to Atlantis.

"But he speaks English," Teyla had insisted.

"Then it should be really easy. Is he British or something?"

Teyla wrinkled her face. "I do not know."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." He left her with a smile.

Then he had run into the guy. Nice looking, with sandy brown hair, wavy and in slight disarray, like he had just gotten out of a convertible. White teeth that were sharp and pointy and constantly bared in a friendly grin.

"Hey, Matore. First name Joey, right?"

The man spoke. At least, he was pretty sure it was speech.

"G'day, somethingsomethingsomething, mate, somethingsomethingsomething, eh, mate?"

"Uh," Sheppard stared, ears desperately trying to process the babble of lilting accent. "Yeah."

"Ah, well, somethingsomethingsomething, mate, somethingsomethingsomething."

"Um, well, nice to meet you, and talk to you…"

"No worries." The man smiled at him, waving and continuing down the hall.

Sheppard fled and somehow ended up in the mess hall, where McKay was sitting, munching contentedly on the meal, which looked a cross between tuna surprise and meatloaf.

"McKay," he said, sitting across from him. The scientist looked up, nodded, and went back to eating. "Do you have a Joey Matore on your team?"

"Yes, why?"

"This may sound weird, but can you understand the guy?"

McKay shot anxious glances both directions before leaning forward. "Not really. I just let him do whatever he wants so I don't have to admit it."

"Can _anyone_ understand him?" Sheppard asked.

"I can pick up 'mate' and 'no worries'," said McKay, going back to eating. "The other Australians seem to do fine, but no one can understand them either."

"Ah."

There was a pause, then Sheppard voiced another pressing concern. "What does he do around here?"

"Well, mainly he works with the naquadah generators. Used to be a specialist in nuclear bombs, from what I read in his profile."

"Right, right. But no one can understand him?"

"No."

"Except for mate and no worries."

"Yeah."

Sheppard laughed and leaned back a little. "So the guy no one understands is the one who could kill us all." McKay looked up with a worried expression.

"I'm trusting he knows what he's doing."

"And if not?" Sheppard prompted, staring at McKay expectantly.

"Then he'll say 'no worries' and we'll think it's fine until the moment we all die in a fiery death."

"Oh. Well, then." Sheppard stood. "No worries."


	4. Baa, Baa, Black Jeep

**CHAPTER FOUR- Baa, Baa, Black Jeep**

**A/N:** I love Joey. Sure, Australians really aren't that incoherent, but Joey's a rare breed, and since I like him so much, he'll probably be appearing again. Just a head's up. My friend says he should say "fair dinkum" a lot. Any Aussies out there want to explain what that means?

**Summary:** Everyone has had one. The car that you lovingly cared for, bought with your own money… sure, it was $500.00 on the side of the road and let out clouds of yellow smoke that may or may not have been poisonous, but it was yours. This is a story about that car.

* * *

"I had a homicidal car once. 1990 Jeep Wrangler, the Sahara edition. That's the one that's got beige seats and is khaki colored on the outside? Man, I loved that thing. I treated her right and she done me wrong. 

The tape deck was busted, so I had to lug around an adaptor everywhere I went, and the rivets broke one day, so I had to keep the bikini top on after that. Let me tell you, that was a pain. Every time it looked like it might rain I had to put it up in the garage, and if I was on the road, it was all over.

Oh, right! The air conditioning broke once when I was in Houston during the summer. It was miserable. And then the gas tank stuck, so that it would work fine until it got to half a tank, then it would stick there until you got down to a fourth of a tank, and then suddenly plummet.

She would start acting like the transmission was going out every time I took her over 55 miles, you know, lurching forward and stuff? And the only way I could get it to go 70 was if I was downhill with a good wind and a blessing from a priest. My mom made me carry a little St. Christopher pendant whenever I walked out the door. She would look at me, look out the window at the Jeep, then back at me with this worried expression, then cross herself. My parents kept trying to offer to buy me a brand new car, but I wanted to be able to say I had paid for my car with my own money, even if it killed me, which, actually, it might have because as you pulled out of the driveway, she would die in the middle of the turn, blocking the entire road, and you thought you were going to die, because there were cars coming at you from both ways and neither were slowing down, and you'd be trying to start her, hoping you don't flood the engine, and whisper, "C'mon, baby, c'mon, I'll give you gas if you don't kill me, please, darling," until she worked.

Man, I loved that car."

There was a moment of silence, then one of the men at the table who had been staring in horrorat the person talking finally spoke.

"And you _drove_ this thing?"

* * *

**Special thanks to:** Kam, Out of Phase, Saira ("And I totally understood every word Joey said" officially makes you my hero), three graces, Espiritu, and Dr. Dredd for reviewing! 


	5. Diplomacy, Schplomacy

**CHAPTER FIVE- Diplomacy, Schplomacy**

"The naquadah generators are about to overload--I have my best men working on it now."

Weir wished she had the luxury of time and a cup of tea, but in the current situation, haste was of the essence. The alarms had woke her up from a pleasant dream of home, blaring wildly in the rooms and hallway. Surprisingly, no one acted excessively perturbed; all of the personnel, inured to the sound of sirens within the Stargate Center on Earth, milled about as if it was elevator music instead of a sure sign of impending doom.

"What happened?" she demanded, turning back to McKay.

"Apparently there was a brief power surge, probably caused by the electrical storm outside, and it knocked the systems in the East quadrant out. We programmed the generators to automatically step in and divert operations to them, but we didn't foresee a power failure of this magnitude."

"Can't you just turn them off?" Weir asked with a frown, but her chief scientist was already shaking his head.

"No, if we did, we might cut off the power from something important, like keeping the entire city from sinking into the ocean again. That's assuming the overload hasn't already fused the shut-off cables--"

"All right, Rodney, I get it. What can we do?"

"You mean besides walking beside me, asking what you can do? Nothing, really."

With a shrug that Weir had long since identified as Rodney's "I'm apologizing for acting like an asshole, but I can't help it because I'm a genius" apology, he hurried on ahead. Despite what he said, Weir trailed along after him, hoping to glimpse the team of scientists at work. There were times, when dealing with people like the egotistical Kavanaugh or the irritable Simpson, that she regretted some of the decisions on who to bring on the expedition. Seeing them work together, babbling excitedly in their technical language, temporarily assuaged those regrets.

"Zelenka!" McKay said in surprise. "I thought you were supposed to be working on the generators!"

Zelenka gave a helpless shrug. "I was. We were."

"What do you mean, were? This isn't like the hot water situation. This is fairly important, if we want to, oh, I don't know, live?"

"You misunderstand." Zelenka adjusted his glasses, apparently undisturbed by McKay's outburst. Weir had no doubts that he was used to them. "Joey has taken care of it."

"Joey? Joey Matore?" McKay's eyes widened.

"Yes," said Zelenka.

McKay shoved past the little Czech, staring at the room where the generators were kept. Most of the scientists were staring at the expensive piece of machinery ruefully, but one boyish individual was leaning unconcernedly against the edge of the table, grinning and tossing a screwdriver into the air.

"What did you do?" McKay asked in a hushed whisper. Weir arched an eyebrow. If she didn't know better, the gray stuff wrapped around the generator looked like--

"Duct tape," Simpson said, with something like awe in her voice. "He used duct tape to fix it."

Joey grinned good-naturedly. "Somethingsomethingsomething. She'll be right, mate."

Weir did not quite catch the first part, but she could have sworn that the man said he made his own tape. It was true, the people of Atlantis had learned to make do without (mostly the military), or make their own (mainly the scientists). But the man sounded proud, as if this were something he had perfected over several years.

She felt someone push past her shoulder, glancing up to see Sheppard standing next to McKay, both of them shooting odd glances over at Joey.

"I told you so," McKay hissed at Sheppard.

Weir tilted her head. First things first.

"Sir, I'd just like to thank you for your work. It's amazing, and the people of Atlantis thank you."

If she had been looking, she would have noticed the snickers that were circulating among the scientists, or how everyone seemed expectant, like they knew something she didn't. As it was, she mentally congratulated herself on the expression of gratitude.

"Somethingsomethingsomething, no worries," Joey said. She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Somethingsomethingsomething."

"Oh. Um. Yes, well, thank you, so much. I really must be…" She wracked her brain for an excuse to leave before exposing her apparent inability to communicate with the Australian. "Uh, going. Reassuring the people, and all that. You know. Thank you again."

Joey arched an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Okay, well, bye then."

She steadfastly ignored McKay and Sheppard giving her innocent smiles as she walked past.


	6. Surf City, Here I Come

**CHAPTER SIX—Surf City, Here I Come**

* * *

"You know when you were a kid at camp, and the counselor asked, if you could have one thing on a desert island, what would you bring?" McKay said.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, leaning back onto the couch. "A surfboard."

"A surfboard? You actually said a surfboard?" McKay said with an incredulous look.

Sheppard nodded. "It's a desert island. Bound to be some great waves. Why, what did you say?"

"An airplane."

"How practical of you," Sheppard said dryly. "Did you also argue with the counselor about the odds of being trapped on a desert island without any hope of survival?"

Ford grinned. "I always said Amy Rogers."

"Amy Rogers?"

"Yeah," Ford's eyes misted over in some fond memory, "I had a crush on her for all my tenth-grade year. She was beautiful, all blonde and curvy, and really smart, too."

"Sounds nice," Weir commented, sipping at her drink.

"And her dad went hunting all the time, and that girl could shoot better than any guy I've ever known," Ford said, dipping his hand back into the popcorn bowl. McKay rolled his eyes and offered him some more.

"Of course that would be attractive to you."

Teyla arched her eyebrow. "I am unfamiliar with this question. What do you mean?"

"It's a hypothetical question," Sheppard explained. "It's sort of like saying if you didn't have anything else and you were about to be all alone, what would you take with you?"

"Yes, yes, it's a round-about way of asking what's most important to you. It's also a deep psychological voodoo technique. For instance, my answer indicates that I'm practical and am a good problem-solver, and am also unwilling to accept the present. Sheppard's answer shows that he's content to live in the now, and takes life as it comes," McKay said.

Teyla considered this, tapping her finger against her chin and frowning. "What does Ford's answer indicate?"

Sheppard and McKay glanced sideways at Ford, who was laughing at the movie with childish glee.

"It shows that he's a red-blooded American male."

"Ah."

Weir heaved a deep sigh. "Of course, none of us expected to actually have to decide." Seeing Teyla's expression, Weir continued. "When we came to Atlantis, we didn't have room to take everything that we wanted, so everyone had to decide on one thing."

"I cannot imagine taking only one thing from my home," Teyla said. Most of her belongings had been carried via puddlejumper to Atlantis, but she still scheduled regular visits to the mainland to talk with her people and settle disputes. "What did you take?"

"Uh," Weir said, feeling a blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "I don't think—"

"Oh, no, Elizabeth, I think it's vital that your underlings know what's most important to you. Something to do with bonding or such," Sheppard said, barely containing his interest. He shot a look to McKay for support.

McKay nodded. "Yes, it's absolutely imperative that we know we can trust the leader to have her priorities in order."

Weir glared at them both. "Fine. I brought a picture of my boyfriend."

McKay and Sheppard seemed stunned.

"Well," McKay said, coughing slightly, "That's…"

"And a bottle of hair dye."

"Hair dye? You brought a bottle of hair dye?" Sheppard said, laughing. "I can't believe that!"

"Oh, please. What did you bring?" Weir said. "I know you sneaked in that tape, so your official one item must be somewhere else."

"Well," Sheppard said evasively, "It wasn't as cool as what McKay brought."

"What?"

"Why, what'd McKay bring?" Ford said, turning to stare at the scientist.

McKay glowered. "Nothing."

"Right. So the genius of the galaxy here didn't sneak in something else…?"

"I'm never telling."

"C'mon, McKay, you gotta tell us now," Ford said, making his eyes as wide as possible. McKay snorted, crossing his arms and motioning Weir to pass the bowl of popcorn over.

"I have to do no such thing. And what did I you /i bring, anyway?"

"Hot Wheels."

There was a collective silence as everyone stared at Ford, including Teyla.

"Hot Wheels?" she said tentatively.

"They're tiny little model cars," Sheppard said in a voice that was bordering on, if not already there, awe, "and he brought them as his one personal item. Why are you in this galaxy? Why are you not somewhere else, going to movies and concerts and stuff?"

Ford shrugged. "I wanted to go. It seemed like fun."

"Fun. Yes, I think getting chased by life-sucking vampiric creatures in a creepy, unexplored city that doesn't have enough power to support the amount of people that came over is fun, as well. I especially enjoy the moments when we run screaming through the Stargate while we're on another world," McKay said sarcastically.

"Some of us don't scream," Teyla said with an arched eyebrow. McKay pulled a double-take, giving her a suspicious look, debating on whether she knew she was making a joke or not. He had found when dealing with semi-dangerous, athletic aliens, it was best not to call them on it.

"Right. You know what I mean."

"Well, I think it's time for bed," Weir said, brushing crumbs off the front of her shirt. "I have work in the morning, you know."

A chorus of good night's reached her as she left, and one by one, each departed to their own room. Sheppard finally yawned, going to the restroom to brush his teeth and pull off his shirt, then paused by the Atlantean version of closets. Sneaking a furtive look around to make sure everyone was gone, he opened the door with a thought, and gazed inside for a bit.

Inside, nearly hidden by the shadows, was a highly polished, colorful surfboard.

Sheppard grinned. "I guess I'm the only one who brought what they said they would."

* * *

**Special thanks to:** Mistress Desdemona, WestOz, Dr. Dredd, fififolle, Jedi Mase, NenyaVilyaNenya, and Kam! 


	7. What's Mines Your's

CHAPTER SEVEN—What's Mines Your's

"Hey, guys, what's—"

"Ssh!" Zelenka said urgently, putting a finger to his lips and leaning forward into Sheppard's space. Sheppard put his hands up defensively.

"Whoa, easy, now, I was just wondering why we were all gathered around McKay, is all," he said, openly curious. He had been wandering through the halls of Atlantis, trying to find something to do, when he noticed the crowd of people in the lab. McKay seemed to be at the center of it, hunched in concentration over the keyboard of his computer. "Did McKay find an inexhaustable power source or something?"

"No, more important." Zelenka paused. "He's about to beat expert-level minesweeper."

Sheppard stared at him, but the little Czech kept a straight face. "You're kidding, right? I mean, surely…"

"Oooh!" A collective moan went up throughout the crowd, with McKay's cry of anger in the middle.

"That was completely and totally unfair—it was a fifty-fifty chance! There was no mathematical reasoning…" The crowd of people began dispersing, leaving Zelenka shaking his head and hiding a grin, McKay attempting to glare the computer into admitting its mistake and burst into flames in shame, and Sheppard leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"You've never beat it before?" he said. McKay whirled in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly.

"If you must know, no. It always comes down to a few mines, and they're always a matter of luck, nothing about skill at all."

"Really? Let me try."

McKay snorted. "Oh, by all means, let's see you do it."

Ten minutes later, McKay had transferred his glare of death from the computer to Sheppard.

"You were lucky."

Another ten minutes passed, and Sheppard was leaning back in the chair with a self-satisfied smile on his face, and McKay looked stubborn. "That was an easy round."

The next round took only eight minutes; the one after that, six and a half; he had it down to five by the last one.

McKay had a vague look of shock on his face. "I can't believe this. How do you do it?"

"Well, it's obvious. I mean, you have to look at all of them… it's just a mathematical formula, Rodney." Sheppard gave him a cocky grin, shoved his hands into his pockets and ambled his way towards the door when Zelenka caught his arm by the door. He shot a look to make sure McKay was still preoccupied with the computer, then leaned forward to whisper to Sheppard.

"How did you do it, really?"

"Actually, I'm just really lucky. There's no way you could have figured those last few out by not just guessing."

"Ha!" McKay's triumphant cry made Sheppard jump. "I knew there was no way you were smarter than me!"

"Sometimes luck is better than brains, McKay," Sheppard said, eyes glinting with mirth.

"Of course it isn't," McKay snorted. "That's like saying it's better to be happy than rich. Utter nonsense."

"I'm glad to see you have your priorities in order."

Dr. Huxley walked up then, waving a packet of papers under McKay's nose. "Rodney, I thought you said you were going to look over these ideas for the more efficient naquadah generator?"

"And I will. Right after I go and win a game of minesweeper." Rodney caught the look Sheppard gave him. "What?"

Sheppard just shook his head and walked off, Rodney's voice trailing him down the hall.

"What? What are you grinning at? What is he grinning at?"

"Can't imagine, Rodney, can't imagine."


	8. Hickory Dickory Spock

Title: Hickory, Dickory, Spock.

Author: Kits

Rating: Everybody

Summary: So would the rabbits be called Rabbitus?

As far as intergalactic vermin go, they were pretty cute.

Atlantis was curiously devoid of life, save for the potted plants that had been relocated to the bottom of a storage closet on one of the lower levels. The ocean was curiously clean, and it was almost creepy staring out the windows and not seeing the tell-tale splashes of fish jumping or even hearing the calls of gulls. It was like going to an aquarium and not seeing any animals, even fish, which he refused to count as animals because "animals" were furry and warm, in his mind.

Which is what the mice were. The sort-of mice. They reminded him of tiny little balls of fluff, except they had four feet that skittered around the halls, and huge ears that folded back against their body. Absently stroking one with a finger, he wondered if they used them to keep warm. The mouse-thing cuddled deeper into his palm.

Their tails were the most interesting. Long and thin, nearly bald but not the whip-like tails of rats on Earth, and at the end was a tiny tuft of hair.

They were undeniably cute, and if the fact that they came in mottled shades of everything from blue to purple was weird, well, they _were_ in another galaxy.

"What," came Rodney's precise and clipped tones, "is that?"

"It's a mouse, Rodney," Sheppard said, bringing his hand in protectively to his chest. "I found it."

"And it never occurred to you that mice carry all sorts of diseases and eat food? You don't know where it's been! It could have contaminated our food now and we're all going to die not from the Wraith, but from some virus that you let run amuck!"

"Rodney, the city would have put it in quarantine by now, if that were the case."

"Oh."

Despite this assurance, he eyed the rodent warily, then back up at Sheppard's face.

"Admit it. You found it in your hair."

"I did not."

"You did! You woke up one morning, and it had nested in your hair," Rodney said.

Sheppard sniffed, doing his best to look haughty and disdainful. If Rodney's snort was any indication, he had to work on it, but he still beat a hasty retreat, nearly running into Ford in the process.

"Sir?"

"Oh, Ford! Here, take him for a minute, will you? I was trying to get some food that I stole from the mess out of my pocket when McKay caught me," Sheppard said, handing the little critter to Ford. Ford took it, watching with interest as the ball of fur nosed at him interestedly before settling into the cradle of his palm, tail wrapped loosely around his thumb.

"Oh, I see you got one, too, sir," Ford said, softly petting the creature. "Do you know they change color?"

Sheppard paused, holding a handful of crumbs. "Really?"

"Yep. When they get scared they turn a greenish and when they're hiding, they turn purple."

Sheppard looked at the mouse and its mellow blue fur. "What's that mean?"

"It's happy."

"Oh. That's good."

"Dear merciful God in Heaven, not another one!"

Sheppard and Ford turned down the hall to find Carson staring at them with a pained look on his face, right before he came trotting down the hall murderously.

"What's the matter, Doc?"

"That!" Dr. Beckett said, pointing to the cowering green mass in Ford's hand. "That is the matter. I have purged all of those furry devils out from my infirmary and I find you fraternizing with one!"

"Fraternizing?" Sheppard said. Ford and he exchanged looks.

"Don't talk semantics with me, military or no. That," he said emphatically, pointing at the mouse, "is the enemy, and you're protecting him."

"If you ask to release it over to your custody, I'm just going to laugh," Sheppard informed him. "What's the big deal over a little mouse anyway?"

"They chew on the gauze. They have disgusting mouse spit and disgusting mouse paws that completely ruin all of my careful sterilization for when the two of you get shot you don't get infections. Apparently you're willing to sacrifice your health for a bit of fur with a tail though!"

"Or a bit of tail, for that matter," Ford said with a grin.

"Didn't we have a discussion about you talking?"

"We had a discussion about me naming things," Ford said, stroking the mouse and studiously not looking Sheppard in the eye. Beckett glowered at them both, and Sheppard studiously did not look _him_ in the eye.

"Well?"

Ford looked up guiltily, puppy-dog eyes staring at him plaintively. "It's a good one."

"Ford…"

"Minimice."

Sheppard stared at him, feeling Rodney come up behind him, peering over his shoulder and chewing loudly. "Minimice?" Sheppard glared at him, wiping the crumbs off his shirt as deliberately as he could. Rodney rolled his eyes and backed up a step.

"As in Minimus the Mouse? In the Latin books?" On anyone else, the look on Rodney's face might have been taken as impressed, but only mildly so.

"Yeah!" Ford said, nodding his head excitedly. "You had the same books?"

"Yes. Along with those with Grumio, the drunk cook, the slave girl, and the dirty poet."

"I loved those. Remember the story where the master goes to get a haircut, and the barber cuts the other guy's throat accidentally because he laughs at the poet's obscene verse?" Ford said, tucking the mouse into his pocket. The little bump rustled, then apparently settled inside contentedly, if the happy little whispering snores were any indication.

"Yes, that's bloody charming, but I want that thing out of my sight," Beckett said with a final lingering glare at the lump in Ford's jacket. "And out of my infirmary."

"And normally he's so charming," Sheppard murmured, watching the good doctor stalk away down the hall, muttering to himself darkly as he went. Rodney shot him a disbelieving look.

"Charming? The man who regularly uses us as experimental pincushions? Personally, I think he gets a certain sadistic pleasure out of it."

"Probably so," Sheppard conceded. "Hand me back my mouse."

Ford reluctantly drew out the little creature, who was fading to a sort of mauve color. Sheppard glanced questioningly at Ford. He shrugged. "Angry."

"Do they bite?"

"Only love-bites, sir," Ford answered promptly. He gave the shivering pinkish lump another stroke, then handed it over to Sheppard, who tucked it into his own pocket.

"Right then. I will see you all later."

Sheppard strode down the hall, ducking around a corner and peering around to see if they followed him. After making sure the coast was clear, he ran a hand through his hair, finding two more mouse creatures tucked into the unruly mess.

"Out. Run free!" he said, depositing them on the floor and watching them scurry away. "You know, my mother always said my hair was full of rat's nests, but I don't think this is what she meant."

A/N: Normally I take the time here to individually thank everybody who has reviewed on the last chapter, and the chapters before that for that matter, and I would love to, but I have to run. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, thank everyone for their lovely feedback!


	9. Bandage the Man!

**CHAPTER EIGHT—Ban(dage) the Man!**

**Author:** Kits

**Rating:** Everybody

**Summary:** Sheppard's wily ways.

* * *

"Let me get this straight, you got yourself hurt, just so you could ask me out on a date?"

Sheppard gave her his most winning grin. "Yup."

"That's the most idiotic, airheaded—" McKay shot a triumphant smile in Sheppard's direction, "—sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. Friday at eight?"

"Sounds perfect," Sheppard said with a smile. "Just like you."

The nurse giggled delightedly, rushing off to check another patient. McKay stared at Sheppard.

"Do you know how lame that was? That was lamer than Prince's music videos during the eighties. It was lamer than a one-legged elephant. If I had tried that line, they would roll their eyes."

"It's all in the delivery. You have to pitch it just right—don't try to be smooth, try and be as cheesy as possible. Women pick up on it and think it's cute that you're trying so hard."

"But you're really not."

"Exactly."

"I think we need to discuss the lengths you go to in order to attract a pretty woman's attentions. What are you going to do for an encore? Let a Wraith eat you?"

Sheppard closed his eyes and settled into his pillow, letting a slow smile creep over his face. "Jealous, McKay?"

"Oh, how could I not be? Of course, I'm insane with jealousy. I change my shirt for a date. You change a bandage. No woman is worth this." McKay gestured broadly to the infirmary bed and IV's.

"Then what is a woman worth?"

"Six twinkies, one hostess cake with cream filling, twenty oatmeal cookies, and three cups of coffee," came the prompt reply.

"... should I start with how sad it is you have this calculated or how sexist it was or how those were all food and unhealthy for you?"

"None, if you would," McKay sniffed. "That's only if she can cook, anyway. Besides, you're the one that got hurt just to see a pretty girl."

Sheppard leaned forward conspiratorally. "Actually, if you can keep a secret--"

"I work at a place that has a giant ring that transports me to other worlds and you want to know if I can keep a secret?"

"Point. Okay, I didn't actually get hurt for her, I just took advantage of the situation. For instance, if Jenny had walked by instead and been my nurse, I would have said the same thing."

"And you call me sexist."

Sheppard leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. "I'm the one with dates."

"You're also the one that's going to have a black eye when they realize what you've been doing."

* * *

Special thanks to: LilyAyl (See? Everyone has that car!), krysalys, fififolle, RecycledFunk, Princess Kitsune Hi, Vecturist, Joyce, NenyaVilyaNenya, SilverThreads, Porthos1013 (curious: is the 1013 a reference to X-Files?), fanficaddict, and WestOz.

On a side note, sorry it took so long to update, but to make it up to you, the next chapter is long and has Joey.


	10. We Meant to Call

Title: We Meant to Call

Title: We Meant to Call

Author: Kits

Rating: K

Summary: "Took you long enough," he said, swinging his bare feet against the desk.

* * *

_Somewhere, sometime, in a slightly different alternate universe:_

Doctor Rodney McKay checked his first aid kit for the sixteenth time, patted his pockets down for the stash of coffee, chocolate, and Powerbars he had managed to squirrel away in a compartment on his jacket (because really, three bars per person a day was insanely low and clearly they were not thinking of people with hypoglycemia here), and browbeat that guy who called out the Chevrons into double-checking there were no lemon chicken MREs.

Major Sheppard scratched behind his ears and ran a hand through his hair, vaguely wondering what all the fuss was about. No one had properly explained it to him, just given him sideways glances and asked what hair gel he used. He mentally shrugged. Probably overrated.

Aiden Ford stared at the stargate. He had gone through it several times before on miscellaneous missions, read the reports from other teams, and honestly, it had become almost prosaic. Being pioneers in space exploration, fighting alien bad guys and intergalactic wars… well, it just got boring after a while. This was a promise of something new, something even more exciting—maybe a chance to finally meet a Furling. The Asgards had turned out to be pretty lame, really, after you got past the fact that they totally did look like aliens from X-Files and he had heard rumors that Chris Carter was being investigated after that, but then they were constantly condescending. He hoped the Ancients were going to be cooler.

Chevron Guy glared at McKay from his loft on high, then grinned when he remembered the lemon chicken MRE he had slipped into his pack.

* * *

"Who are you?" a belligerent voice asked Major Sheppard apropos nothing. He turned to see a stocky man with thinning hair glaring at him. "Why aren't you with the other military people?"

Major Sheppard glanced over to where Colonel Sumner was glowering at every person around him, then turned back to the stocky guy to answer. "I'm—"

"Never mind, never mind, I need you to carry this," the man shoved a pack into his hands.

His eyebrows shot up. "Why do I get this honor?"

The man rolled his eyes impatiently. "Because clearly you are not here for your intelligence, which must mean that you have something going for you. I can only assume it's because you decided to make your living out of heavy lifting."

Sheppard adjusted the pack so it fit more comfortably against him. "Clearly. You are?"

Shooting him a suspicious look, the man grudgingly answered, "McKay. I'm the guy you should protect at all costs because I'm going to be the ones saving all of us should we somehow find ourselves in moments of extreme peril."

"Are we expecting that?"

"You haven't worked here long, have you?" McKay said, narrowing his eyes at Sheppard.

They were interrupted by a peppy Japanese woman rushing past, chattering excitedly to another woman repacking her gear. Another man swore loudly in Czech nearby, tugging on the straps and attempting to wedge what looked like an external hard drive into one of the pockets.

"Looks like the whole gang's here," Sheppard mentioned off-handedly. Flags were sewn onto the arms of everyone's uniforms: reds, greens, whites, blues, and a few totally unfamiliar to Sheppard proudly proclaiming their country of origin. It was like watching the geek Olympics.

"Except the Australians," McKay said, munching on a Snickers bar.

"They weren't invited?"

McKay shook his head. "No, they just didn't answer. No one really knows why. Probably at the pub or something."

Laughing lightly, Sheppard took a step forward towards the event horizon as it opened. "I see you're familiar with them."

* * *

From the first step, everyone gasped in wonder. The city's architecture depended on curves and the natural outgrowth of panels and windows, soaring arches and awash with soothing colors that reminded Sheppard of the ocean. They expected the mass of aesthetic technology, the stargate artfully incorporated into the control room.

They did not expect the men and women milling around, who looked up in vague surprise when they entered.

"Who are you?" Elizabeth Weir asked in wonder, taking one step forward and trying to look her regal best for who had to be the Ancients.

The men and women traded guilty looks before a man stepped forward and shuffled his bare feet.

"G'day," he said brightly. "Something something something something."

"You're Australian?" Sheppard burst out with some surprise. He ignored the dark looks sent his way by Colonel Sumner.

Everyone quietly spoke amongst themselves, then someone whispered in somebody's ear, and somehow a young man who moved to Australia from Texas when he was a boy found himself serving as default translator.

"Uh," he stammered, listening to the man speak again. "I think he said that he's Joey and these here are his mates."

Joey nodded approvingly, then said something else, pausing and looking at the lieutenant expectantly.

"He said: Righto. They found a little ship, he calls it a puddlejumper, and they fixed it up and somehow ended up here."

"Why didn't you—" McKay looked apocalyptic, even more so than usual. "You didn't think to TELL anybody?"

"Well, we meant to, see, but then we had a bit of a celebration and the next thing you know, Joey chundered all over the note and we kind of forgot about it," a girl named Bianca piped up, shrugging apologetically. Her accent bordered nearly on intelligible. "You know how it goes."

The questions piled on from there, a mess of angry demands from the military portion and eager inquiries from the scientists.

"What have you found?"

"Did you meet the Ancients?"

"What's it like?"

The last was thought about contemplatively before Joey burst into a shark-like grin and said something understandable in any language. "Great waves."


End file.
